


in its right and proper place

by TomBowline



Series: composing unity [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, this polycule has a chain of command
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: In a quiet little house in London, Mr Jopson takes charge of his men.Fill for day six of Rarepair Week, “After the expedition”.
Relationships: Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson/Edward Little
Series: composing unity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979239
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	in its right and proper place

It was when they were still marshalling themselves for the evening’s activities, only just lighting the lamps and undressing, that Thomas made his intention for the night’s direction plain. He asked Francis some question or other, to which Francis replied in the simple affirmative. Upon receiving this short reply Thomas reached out smartly to take Francis by the chin, fixed him with a particular look, and said: “Yes, _what?_ ”

A pause - a trace of heat up Francis’ spine - a breath out. “Yes, sir.”

Thomas smiled - “Good.” - and turned back to undoing his stock as if nothing had happened. Francis swore he could feel the air in the room shift and thicken.

He turned to Edward, who was already spread out naked on the bed, posture aimless and artless and still ridiculously fetching; smiled at him as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and deliberately shrugged it to the floor in a crumpled heap.

He would not presume to be so careless on a more straightforward night - Thomas truly did not like to see such disregard most times, and Francis did not like to give him pains - but now his interest was piqued. Far from wishing to avoid reproof, he wished to draw it, and this seemed a most expedient method.

Thomas, indeed, turned immediately to cast a displeased eye on such folly. “Captain. You know better.”

“Yes, sir.” Francis had to bite his lip to keep his face grave, feeling his face color most tellingly. “Apologies.”

Thomas was drawn up close, now, behind Francis and grasping the back of his neck half-loosely with one capable hand. Francis steadied himself to go down onto his knees. “And you know what I’m going to tell you to do now, don’t you.”

“Yes, sir.” When nothing else was forthcoming - and oh, this was a loss, for he did so wish to hear Thomas give the order - he added, “I’m to pick it up and fold it properly, sir.”

Now, now, here it was: the pressure on his neck increasing gradually, telegraphing the shove that was coming up, making him go down to kneel sharp and ungainly at Thomas’ feet. A burn in his thighs from the stretch, a burn in his belly from the pleasure. He plucked his shirt from the rug with imprecise fingers, folded it and set it on his toilet-table without moving to stand. Moved, instead, to face Thomas, to stare at his fine face and the slowly firming line of his prick. His hands came up to stroke over the backs of Thomas’ thighs as he sat forward like a supplicant—

But Thomas shrugged him off, hand in his hair shunting backwards and foot nudging into Francis’ own soft cock. “No, Captain,” he admonished. “I hardly think such behavior merits first go. You’ll sit in your chair and watch Lieutenant Little take my yard, and try to get your prick hard enough to fuck me with. And do try.” Francis felt his face heat, but made an obedient retreat to the armchair in the corner of the room while Thomas took up his seat on the bed behind an Edward who was by now kneeling and looking much less aimless. 

Edward opened up easy for Thomas - he always did, their Tom had such a talent with his hands as bordered on the arcane - and soon the wonderful little noises he kept at making produced a stirring in Francis’ groin. Thomas’ teasing was only half-fair - indeed, he had borne witness to the period in the days after his recovery from the drink in which he had risen nearly every day with a prick mortifyingly ready to harden at the least inducement (and to credit some of the things he had confessed since they had all three become lovers, the sight of his captain’s prick twitching firm and eager as he was dressed and shaved - and his captain’s blushing face as he tried resolutely to ignore it - had sustained Thomas’ own pleasures for many a night). But it was true that Francis needed time to come to a stand these days, and he was grateful to be given it even as he was shamed hotly by its necessity. Thomas was most skilled in this strange alchemy, in the taking of Francis’ want and his shame and the melding of them into something hot and bright and pleasurable. 

But now his own emotion was secondary, a tool to feed his arousal. The focus was on Edward gone down on his knees and elbows on the bed, and on Thomas behind him pulling out his fingers to grease his cock. From the chair he had been relegated to, Francis had a wonderfully clear view of them. The slick girth of Thomas where he pressed it firmly and deliberately into Edward’s furred clutching hole, the slack drop of Edward’s pink lips as he was breached, the way Thomas stroked down Edward’s back as if gentling a horse when he began to thrust sharp and purposeful - Francis’ whole world was here in this room, and it was a lovely world indeed.

Edward reached for his cock, flushed needfully dark and bobbing beneath him, but Thomas tutted and gave his wrist a gentle slap to dislodge the hand. “You’ll get my cock and nothing else.” 

Francis saw Thomas bite the inside of his cheek then, just barely visible, and knew that the burning-wet furl of Edward’s hole was twitching tight around Thomas’ prick. He had been gifted with the same sensation on occasion when he told Edward something especially filthy, and borne it with much less decorum than Thomas currently was. His prick filled out a bit more just to remember it.

“I was considering just my fingers—” Thomas continued, a bit short of breath now, but otherwise just as even in tone as if he were reading from the paper. He reached down to stroke through Edward’s side-whiskers, going from twisting tugs to soft soothing scratches and back again with a practiced tenderness. “But you’ve been so good for us, haven’t you?” Edward replied in only little groans and hitching breaths, only lashes fluttering frenetic against cheeks, only a desperate trail of seed from the head of his prick. “Hasn’t he been good, Captain?”

Francis caught Thomas’ eyes then, and felt just as singularly exposed as he always did when they locked gazes like this: pinned like a butterfly, lashed down tight with the soundest of knots. He felt a lick of heat travel down his spine to curl around his cock as Thomas’ light eyes bored into him. Every time he received this gaze was like a reprieve: what a radiant honor, to be examined by such a meticulous gaze and found worthy. 

Thomas’ voice cut through the fuzzy flush of heat that was suffusing Francis to prompt him again, his tone prim and underpinned with something most inflexible. “Well?”

“Yes,” Francis choked, barely able to grasp for the proper response through the settled weight of Thomas’ ice-burn stare. Perhaps Thomas was referring to last afternoon, when Edward had taken them both so well at either end - perhaps he was merely speaking in the general - it hardly mattered. “So good, Ned, lovely for us.”

“That’s right,” Thomas grunted secondarily, “good man.” 

Francis did not have much time to bask in the scanty praise before he was distracted, for Thomas had begun punctuating his thrusts with a firm grip into the meat of Edward’s arse that became a smart little slap, then two. Edward was slack in the bed now, arms long since given way, all his strength in the halyard-taut thrust of his hips into Thomas’. He renewed his muffled groaning as Thomas hit and thrust in two-part harmony, sliding up in pitch to make a rhythmic, animal release of constant sound. 

Francis rubbed himself over his trousers with a bit more purpose, grinding the heel of his palm in for the best friction, as Edward half-bit, half-sucked on his own knuckles to choke down the noise. Not long now, Francis thought. And following quick on the tail of this thought was another - Edward with a soft sturdy bit of leather between his teeth, something for him to tongue and champ at in the throes. Something weighty - it would sit on his tongue like the head of a prick. Fill him up like he wanted. 

With pleasant surprise Francis found his cock thickening rapidly by such imagined inducements, and took it out to frig himself to a full stand. Almost at the same moment, almost as soon as he had looked up from undoing his flies - and what a lucky chance it was - Edward came apart before his eyes. The hot jolting contact of his own hand on his prick mingled and twined around the spectacle of his lovers: Edward’s big hands clutched convulsively in the sheets; Edward’s sweat-sheened arse twitching up to ride it out; Edward’s telltale moan, punched-out and ragged. These, also: Thomas’ hand stroking the cascade of disheveled hair back from Edward’s face; Thomas’ prick pulling slow and obscene from Edward’s arse; Thomas’ nails pressing light and teasing, just this side of too much, over Edward’s reddened cheeks. Good Christ, if he hadn’t been ready before. 

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to him once more, and he felt deliciously caught: sitting in his chair, tugging on his prick to this beautiful tableau of debauchery, and one of its participants staring right at him. At the same time he felt the invitation, the familiarity of Thomas’ gaze. _Come here, Francis._

He could not but come when Thomas called, even when the call was silent. Edward rolled away to lie up on the pillows and watch, rubbing his legs absently together as he blinked slowly, processing. Francis spared a kiss for his dear wrung-out Ned before he was drawn away by the polite yet assertive clearing of Thomas’ throat. 

He was a vision. Lithe forearms crossed over his lightly-haired chest, well-kept nails drumming; hair not a lock out of place; prick red and wet and hard enough to hammer nails. “Just who do you answer to? Who are you here to please, Captain Crozier?” The question was deceptively gentle in tone. Francis knew he would be slapped for a wrong answer - which would be inducement enough to give one on another night, but tonight he was not in that particular breed of mood. 

He answered simply, having no mind for embellishment at the moment. “You.” Caught himself just in time: “You, sir.” 

This earned him a pleased smile, unfurling across Thomas’ cheeks like a sail being drawn out by a line, and another “Good man”. It had been an easy question, but Francis felt the glow of Thomas’ approval all the same. 

Under Thomas’ guiding hands, and after several long and downright indecent kisses, Francis found himself atop him in the bed, prick-to-prick and sharing breath. Thomas’ soft hand - so much softer than his or Edward’s, and it felt like one more reminder of the unaccountable blessing of Thomas’ love to feel that supple grip - brushed over his back to his fundament, pressed their hips together teasingly, as he opened his bitten lips to give his next command. 

“Now,” he began, “you are going to fuck me on that yard of yours until I come. If you do well, you may spend inside me.” His gaze was blithe, expectant, not quite innocent but certainly with more of an air of _respectability_ than was appropriate. “And if you shoot off early again, you may suck it all out of my hole until you make me come that way. Do we understand each other?” 

Francis’ groan was mirrored by Edward beside him, evidently aware enough now to watch and listen. “Yes, sir,” Francis choked out with some difficulty. 

Thomas smiled and pressed the tin of grease - the tin he had used not an hour ago to open Edward for himself - into Francis’ hand. “Good.” 

The first swipe of Francis’ finger over Thomas’ hole had him gasping small and pleased, one ankle coming up to dig into the softness of Francis’ flank. He was tempted sorely to tease, and did so for a time - massaging grease into and around the hole to warm it, never doing more than firmly pressing over it before retreating - until Thomas kicked him gently with the same foot and tutted. _I expect better,_ said the expression clearly writ over his face when Francis looked up. 

Fine, then, Francis thought, and thrust one finger in up to the knuckle without compunction. 

Thomas’ body twitched up concave around him; his breath left his body in a pleased huff. He opened by degrees around Francis’ finger, body less biddable than Edward’s yet more controlled - fewer errant tightenings in tune with his arousal, muscles making a clear linear journey from taut to lax. Like a well-tied knot to be twisted and nudged open, Francis thought, he would unfurl beautifully with the right inducement. 

When one finger had become two, and two had become three, and Thomas had begun shoving back against Francis’ hand in a fever of clutching impatience, he judged him to be ready. As he lined himself up to push in he was aware of Edward watching the pair of them with an avid hunger; as he fed his prick to Thomas’ hole by torturous degrees he was goaded on by Edward’s gaze, by the soft catchings of his breath. 

He had to take a moment, once he was fully seated; he wanted badly to thrust hard and uncouth and relentless from the gate, but he did not know what Thomas was after. Move slow, let the both of them adjust - that was the best way. 

Thomas’ heel digging into his arse seemed to say otherwise. After a few moments of such delicate treatment Thomas let out a sharp groan and grasped Francis by the hair to pull him insistently forward. “Come on,” he said, in a tone that from another man would have been petty but from Thomas only registered as imperative. “You can give it to me harder than that, I know you can.” 

The grip of Thomas’ hand, the impatience in his voice, the pure velvet heat of him goaded Francis on to thrusts that shook the bed and filled the room with obscene sound. Behind were Thomas’ legs round Francis’ back in a vise of softly scratching hair; before was Thomas’ cock smacking happily against his stomach as Francis’ nails dug into his thighs. “Fuck up,” Thomas was instructing now, “Just—” A minute adjustment in position, a slight tilt up off the mattress, and Thomas groaned loud and rich and pleased. It was a sound of the sort Francis and Edward had taken pains to draw from him over the months, this creature of control and reticence, and Francis savored to hear it. 

Beside him Edward seemed similarly affected - he had grown half-hard again and was stroking over himself idly. Francis caught his eye; looked back to Thomas, flushed and twitching. Slowed his pace to a slow deliberate grind into the seat of Thomas’ pleasure. 

Immediately Thomas jabbed at Francis with his ankle again. “Have I told you to slow down?” 

“No, sir, but—” 

Thomas’ eyes were open now, flaring with displeasure as he sat up on his elbows. “But what? You had better not spend.” 

Francis frowned at him with vague reproach; inclined his head downward to where Edward was nudging up against Thomas’ flank, mouth slightly open, hand splaying towards his prick. 

“Ah, I see.” Thomas relaxed - a relief for Francis and his cock, whatever reproachful looks he may have thrown a moment ago. “The lieutenant wants something in his mouth, is that it? Well.” He slid one hand to the back of Edward’s neck, guided him almost to his prize, then dug in his fingers to hold him back. “And what makes the lieutenant think he deserves to come a second time?” 

Francis was ready to make the case, but Edward spoke up himself, soft and haltingly: “I don’t know— if I deserve it, sir, but. I want you in my mouth when you finish.” These words in a rush, spoken as if they pained him. His lips were barely an inch from the head of Thomas’ cock as he spoke. “Please? Please let me have your seed.” His face was boiling over into an alarming (quite fetching) shade of red. His breath was coming out in pants, nearly whines. Francis did feel for him. 

Thomas looked to Francis, giving him permission to add his perspective. “He’ll be such a good hole for you,” Francis said lowly, reaching a hand over to stroke Edward’s cheek with one finger. “Hasn’t he been good? I think he ought to have it.” 

Thomas sighed as if the decision were a great ordeal. “Oh, very well.” He dropped his hand from Edward’s neck (Francis made a note to look for those bruises tomorrow, they ought to be rather uncommon) and Edward took immediately to licking and drooling over his cock with an obvious and heady magnitude of desperation. He was laid out at a narrow angle from them, head in Thomas’ lap and hips making little susurrations in the sheets. 

When Edward was settled well onto Thomas’ prick, Francis began to move again; just slowly, just enough to make him feel it without dislodging their Ned from his leisure. Thomas seemed to luxuriate in it - but he seemed also to see something missing, a break in their circle, as he studied his two lovers - Francis thrusting easily, Edward rubbing himself onto the sheets. 

The decree came presently and somewhat breathlessly: “Give him your fingers, Captain.” 

Thomas saw so much that Francis missed; knew for certain what Francis could only guess at. He had a preternatural ability, for instance, to gauge exactly how much their lovely sensitive Edward could take, how many times he could come, how much to touch him when he was hard and when he was soft. So it was without a second thought that Francis obeyed. He pushed two fingers into Edward’s arse, down that generously furred crack and into the slick pink furl, pretty as a woman’s cunt and twice as tight. His fingers slipped in easily where Edward was still damp and pliable from his fucking, arresting Francis in a duality of sensation: fucking two holes at once, his prick in Tom and his fingers in Ned. It gave him the impression of being a blunt instrument of pleasure, a tool to satisfy his lovers. His own arousal was at once made secondary and compounded by such treatment, and he had to walk a razor’s edge of control to keep from disobeying orders and coming off too soon inside Thomas. 

He could tell, however, that he would not be waiting long - could tell by the little shivers Thomas had set to, and the freshly earnest gasping of his breaths. One thrust, two, three - sure and steady, world clipped down to the tip of his prick where it disappeared into his lover. And there, there, there, ropes unfolding to slither away from each other with the finesse of a measured and patient untying: Thomas seizing around him, face flushed and hair spilled out on the pillow, twitching up into Edward’s waiting mouth. And then, oh, Edward, too: a stuttering of his hips between the mattress and Francis’ hand; the wet animal groan as he took what he was given; his throat and lips working Thomas through it mindlessly even as he came through it himself. 

Francis ought to wait, now, ought to listen for Thomas giving him leave to finish - but faced with such inducements he had become impatient to the exclusion of sense. He leant up to kiss Thomas as he took up fucking him again, paused when he was close enough to feel the hot flush of his cheek. “May I?” His lips brushed the corner of Thomas’ mouth as he asked it, letting the end of the sentence trail. _May I kiss you? May I come?_

Thomas nodded. Opened his mouth slack and lovely to Francis’ biting kiss. Squeezed convulsively about Francis’ prick with the well-used muscles of his channel. Reached his lovely hand up to pet down Francis’ back in a wide soothing stripe. He welcomed Francis in, unreservedly, to every part of himself. How dizzying, how unlikely and how deliriously joyful for Francis to know unequivocally that he was the recipient of such ardent trust and affection. How wonderful to do what Thomas wanted him to. How impossible to do anything else in this moment but come apart for him. 

He pumped into Thomas like a sheet let go in a gale to be whipped about as the wind might want, feeling every sweet particular of sensation with a rushing turbulent immediacy. He felt at once quite narrowly internal - his existence contracted down to his cock in Thomas, his hot seed in Thomas’ hole - and suddenly expanded, but one part of the whole they all made together. As the excitement in his blood traveled out concentrically, made his thighs and his belly sing with the delight of completion, he felt Edward’s hair in his hand and Thomas’ legs round his back as if they were all one creature. How perfect to be one line in such a rigging. 

Thomas sighed and slumped lax into the sheets as Francis came out of him - this, too, was something relatively new and utterly wonderful, the degree to which Thomas would relax around them. He was not a man, Francis knew, who liked to be seen at ease by just anyone. But in their bed he lay with limbs loose and one hand resting absently on his chest, with his face spreading easily into a smile as he watched Francis watch him. Francis knew he should be up from bed to fetch flannels and the basin of water they had laid by early in the evening, should move quickly before things became quite dried - but he was bound to that towline smile. He leaned down to kiss Thomas once more, soft and tired and familiar.

Thomas nudged Edward’s flank with his foot as Francis left to make the long cold journey to the toilet-table. From behind him he heard Thomas' voice, his tone half amused and half reproving: “You’re aware, Ned, that with this lovely display on the sheets you’ve volunteered yourself to drop off the washing this week.” A sleepy door-hinge sound from Edward, easily identifiable as his most put-upon of groans. Francis could only smile.


End file.
